Florence laughed. “Silly goose. Of course it is!”

Eve relaxed.

“It’s a euphemism for Freddy shagging the party planner and giving her chlamydia, darling. And what a frightful fit she’s thrown about it, too.”

“I . . . see,” Eve croaked. I see was a lovely, neutral phrase. Much more socially acceptable than Bloody hell, Florence, what the fuck is your family on?

But really. If you were going to sleep with staff, practicing safe sex seemed the very least you could do. Or perhaps she was being judgmental?

“Now, darling, we will of course be paying you—you’re an entrepreneur now!” Florence trilled. As Eve wasn’t particularly close to, well, any of her friends, none of them had a complete picture of just how many times she’d been an entrepreneur. Her failures were her own private wounds to lick, thank you very much. “And since the party’s not until February,” Florence went on, “we won’t need to start consultations until . . . September.”

Eve blinked. “That’s six months before the actual party, Flo.”

“Well,” came the frosty reply, “this is Freddy’s twenty-first, Eve. If you can’t take that fact seriously—”

“No,” Eve blurted, that disapproving tone making her stomach roil. It reminded her of being at school, when life had revolved around avoiding too much soul-shriveling attention from students or teachers. “No, that’s not what I meant. But, Flo . . . I’m not sure if I’m up to this at the moment.” Understatement of the year. Eve had rather a lot on her plate, what with today’s mild familial disowning and mild vehicular maiming. Plus, September was only a month away, and she should probably spend that month job-hunting.

She braced herself for a Hurricane Florence tantrum, and possibly for temporary ostracism from one of her many friendship groups. Instead, after a slight pause, she heard . . .

A sniffle?

“Evie,” Flo said, sounding rather damp. “Please. I know it’s a sudden ask, and Freddy can be a bit difficult, but he’s really fluffed things up with this party planner woman and our parents are going absolutely bonkers and—well, I need your help, Eve. You wouldn’t let me down, would you? Not when I need your help? It would be so terribly cruel.”

Eve bit her lip, a worried frown creasing her brow. Florence sounded quite upset, which made the stress and annoyance sloshing around Eve’s stomach swirl predictably into concern. The fact was, Flo had a problem, and Eve—her currently messy life aside—could fix it.

So after a moment’s internal wobbling, she inevitably gave in. “Oh, all right. If you need me, Flo, you know I’ll do my best. So . . . six months of party planning it is.” What were friends for, after all?

“Really?” Florence squealed. “Oh, that’s wonderful, Eve, absolutely wonderful. Knew you’d see reason.” Her tone zipped from squeaky pleasure to smooth business in the blink of an eye. “Since I’ve got you on the phone, we might as well talk details. Venues are the priority at this point, of course—when are you available for viewings? Never mind, I’ll email you an invite to the Google Calendar.”